<h2 id="c11"><br/>CHAPTER XI <br/>THE GIRL OF THE PURPLE FLAME</h2>
<p>There is something in the sharp tang of the
Arctic air, in the honest weariness of a long day
of tramping, in the invigorating freshness of
everything about one, that makes for perfect
repose. In spite of the problems that faced
them, regardless of the mystery that haunted
this chamber of nature, hour after hour, to the
very tune of the whirling storm, the girls slept
the calm and peaceful sleep of those who bear
ill will toward no one.</p>
<p>When at last Marian pried her eyes open to
look at her watch, she was surprised to learn
that eight hours had passed. She did not look
to see the gleam of dawn at the mouth of the
cave. Dawn in this strange Arctic land was
still four hours away.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_96">[96]</div>
<p>She knew that the storm was still raging.
There came the roar and boom of the wind.
Now and again, as if the demons of storm were
determined upon pulling them from their retreat,
a steady sucking breath of it came sweeping
down through the cave. Marian listened, and
then she quoted:</p>
<div class="verse">
<p class="t0">“‘Blow high, blow low,</p>
<p class="t2">Not all your snow</p>
<p class="t0">Can quench our hearth-fire’s</p>
<p class="t2">Ruddy glow.’”</p>
</div>
<p>She smiled to herself. Their tiny fire had gone
out long ago, but another might easily be kindled.</p>
<p>She was about to turn over in her bed for
another ten winks, when she suddenly remembered
the mysterious discovery of the night
before—the ashes and the bones, and at once
she found herself eager for an exploration of
the place. To discover if possible what sort of
people had been here before her; to guess how
long ago that had been; to search for any relics
they may have left behind—all these exerted
upon her mind an irresistible appeal.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_97">[97]</div>
<p>She had risen and was drawing on her knickers
when Attatak awakened.</p>
<p>“Come on,” Marian cried, “it is morning.
The storm is still tearing away at the mountain
side. We can’t go on our way. We—”</p>
<p>“<i>Eleet-pon-a-muck!</i>” (too bad), broke in
Attatak. “Now Bill Scarberry will get our
pasture. The Agent will pass before we arrive.
We shall have no one to defend our herd.”</p>
<p>At this Marian plumped down upon her sleeping
bag. What Attatak said was true. Should
they be unable to leave the cave this day, the
gain they had hoped to make was lost.</p>
<p>“Well,” she laughed bravely, “we have reindeer,
and they are swift. We will win yet.”</p>
<p>“Anyway,” she said, springing to her feet,
“no use crying over spilled milk. Until we can
leave the cave our time’s our own. Come on.
Get dressed. We’ll see what wealth lies hidden
in this old home in the mountain side.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_98">[98]</div>
<p class="tb">In the meantime Patsy was having a full
share of strange adventure. Late in the afternoon,
feeling herself quite free from the annoying
presence of the visiting band of Eskimos
and of Scarberry’s herd, she harnessed her
favorite spotted reindeer and went for a drive
up the valley. The two young Eskimos who
worked under Terogloona had been sent into
the hills to round up their herd and bring them
into camp. This was one of the daily tasks of
the herders. If this was done every day the
herd would never stray too far. Patsy liked to
mount a hill with her sled deer and then, like a
general reviewing his troops, watch the broad
procession of brown and white deer as they
marched down the valley.</p>
<p>This day she was a little late. The herd began
passing before she had climbed half way up the
ridge. She paused to watch them pass. Then,
undecided whether to climb on up the slope or
turn back to camp, she stood there until the
uncertain light of the low Arctic sun had faded
and night had come. Just as she had decided
to turn her deer toward home, she caught a
purple gleam on the hill directly above her.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_99">[99]</div>
<p>“The purple flame!” she exclaimed. “And
not a quarter of a mile above me. I could climb
up there in fifteen minutes.”</p>
<p>For a moment she stood undecided. Then,
seized by a sudden touch of daring, she whirled
her deer about, tethered him to his sled, and
went scouting up a gully toward the spot where
the mysterious flame had flashed for a moment,
then had gone out.</p>
<p>“I’ll see something, anyway,” she told herself
as she strove in vain to still the painful fluttering
of her heart.</p>
<p>She had worked her way to a position on the
side of the hill where the outlines of a tent, with
its extension of stovepipe standing out black
above it, was outlined against the sky. Then, to
her consternation, she saw the flaps of the tent
move.</p>
<p>“Someone is coming out,” she whispered to
herself. “Perhaps they have been watching me
through a hole in the tent. Perhaps—”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_100">[100]</div>
<p>Her heart stopped beating at thought of the
dangers that might be threatening. Should she
turn and flee, or should she flatten herself
against the snow and hope that she might not
be seen? Suddenly remembering that her parka,
made of white fawnskin, would blend perfectly
with the snow, she decided on the latter course.</p>
<p>There was not a second to lose. Hardly had
she melted into the background of snow when a
person appeared at the entrance of the tent.</p>
<p>Then it was that Patsy received a thrilling
shock. She had been prepared to see a bearded
miner, an Eskimo, most any type of man. But
the person she saw was not a man, but <i>a woman</i>;
scarcely that—little more than a girl.</p>
<p>It was with the utmost difficulty that Patsy
suppressed an audible exclamation. Closing her
lips tight, she took one startled look at the
strange girl.</p>
<p>Carefully dressed in short plaid skirt, bright
checkered mackinaw, and a blue knit hood; the
girl stood perfectly silhouetted against the sky.
Her eyes and hair were brown; Patsy was sure
of that. Her features were fine. There was a
deep shade of healthy pink in her cheeks.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_101">[101]</div>
<p>“She’s not a native Alaskan,” Patsy told
herself. “Like me, she has not been long in
Alaska.”</p>
<p>How she knew this she could not exactly tell,
but she was as sure of it as she was of anything
in life. Suddenly she was puzzled by a question:
“What had brought the girl from the
warmth of the tent into the cold?”</p>
<p>Patsy saw her glance up toward the sky.
There was a rapt look on her face as she gazed
fixedly at the first evening stars.</p>
<p>“It’s as if she were saying a prayer or a
Psalm,” Patsy murmured. “‘The heavens declare
the glory of God and the firmament his
handiwork.’”</p>
<p>For a full moment the strange girl stood thus;
then, turning slowly, she stepped back into the
tent. That the tent had at least one other occupant,
Patsy knew at once by a shadow that
flitted across the wall as the girl entered.</p>
<p>“Well,” mused Patsy. “Well, now, I
wonder?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_102">[102]</div>
<p>She was more puzzled than ever, but suddenly
remembering that she had barely escaped
being caught spying on these strangers, she rose
and went gliding down the hill.</p>
<p>When she reached her reindeer she loosed him
and turned him toward home, nor did she allow
him to pause until he stood beside her igloo.</p>
<p>Once inside her lodge, with the candle gleaming
brightly and a fire of dry willows snapping
in the sheet-iron stove, Patsy took a good long
time for thinking things through.</p>
<p>Somewhat to her surprise, she found herself
experiencing a new feeling of safety. It was
true she had not been much afraid since Marian
had left her alone with the herders, for it was
but a step from her igloo to Terogloona’s tent.
This old herder, who treated her as if she were
his grandchild, would gladly give his life in
defending her from danger. Nevertheless, a
little feeling of fear lingered in her mind whenever
she thought of the tent of the purple flame.
As she thought of it now she realized that she
had lost that fear when she had discovered that
there was a girl living in that tent.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_103">[103]</div>
<p>“And yet,” she told herself, “there are bad
women in Alaska just as there are everywhere.
She might be bad, but somehow she
didn’t look bad. She looked educated and sort
of refined and—and—she looked a bit lonely
as she stood there gazing at the stars. I wanted
to walk right up to her and say ‘Hello!’ just
like that, nice and chummy. Perhaps I will, too,
some day.</p>
<p>“And perhaps I won’t,” she thoughtfully
added a moment later. Something of the old
dread of the purple flame still haunted her mind.
Then, too, there were two puzzling questions:
Why were these people here at all; and how
did they live, if not off Marian’s deer?</p>
<p>Not many days later Patsy was to make a
startling discovery that, to all appearances, was
an answer to this last question.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_104">[104]</div>
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